A spider swung across the glass,

light cutting through the bulb of his back

as he leapt over each color cast

behind the formless web.

His two long forearms laid out lines

as he circled past the axis

where he left a soft white excess

to mark the time and pattern.

He couldn’t see it, he only

sensed it to be there:

a touchstone he revolved around

despite the nothing in the center.

I stared into that space

wondering if a part of me

was empty, small,

of no importance to the city,

and could that become all of me?

I’d been passed from friend to friend

and still didn’t live anywhere,

still wouldn’t for a while.

Something here had made me stay.

Was it ambition I’d misplaced,

stitched in me like a web, or a chain?

Or was it a lie I’d told myself

that came suddenly tearing down

a truth hidden on the ground

blooming open with a hiss?

I can’t stop asking this.